Granger-Reinpol Restaurant Hospitality and Service Consultancy
by theckel
Summary: Some would say that Hermione ditched her Wizarding responsibilities by opening a restaurant consultancy. Others would say she was following her dreams. She would say that she wasn't the only one ditching her responsibilities, and that some of the strangest people enter the restaurant business.
1. A Loud Day At The Office

**Granger-Reinpol Restaurant Hospitality and Service Consultancy  
**_Chapter One, or A Loud Day At The Office_

"Hermione, we have to talk."

"If this is about what I think it's about, drop it."

"No! I am _done_ with this! I don't care about sharing names or recognition or 'two halves' or – or whatever else you're always going on about. This _isn't _how it's supposed to be."

"You knew what you were getting into!"

"Being _your_ partner is enough, Hermione! I don't need any –"

"I'm not changing my mind about –"

"It's just one detail and you're so stubborn –"

"It's the _principle_ of the matter! You –"

"Do you know who I am?! I'm the Chief Field Analyst of Granger-Reinpol Restaurant Hospitality and Service Consultancy!"

Both glared at each other, panting slightly. After a pregnant pause, Hermione sat back down behind her desk in what she hoped was a dismissive manner. They had gone through this argument many times before, though this was definitely one of their more heated moments. Hermione could still feel eyes on her while she shuffled her papers unnecessarily. Finally, she spoke.

"It's descriptive."

"IT'S RIDICULOUS!"

**ooo**

The Granger-Reinpol Restaurant Hospitality and Service Consultancy (GRRHoSeC for short) had been established by Hermione Granger and one of her closest friends, Medora Reinpol, when both were 25.

What had started as a hobby and distraction from wizarding world responsibilities resulted in Hermione holding a prestigious degree in hospitality management. During her studies she met Medora – a tiny, sarcastic, wannabe-food-connoisseur who had been torn between theatre studies and hospitality – and they became fast friends, graduating alongside each other.

While both were undeniably good at what they did, the success of GRRHoSeC was definitely partly due to new Ministry of Magic policies. In particular, a policy that had been in debate since the start of the war and finally passed a year before their graduation. It decreed that certain muggles such as relatives or significant others (or in Hermione's case, a business partner) were allowed to witness acts of magic after receiving clearance from the Ministry.

They were by no means _welcomed_ into the Wizarding community, but could learn of the existence of magic, with the hopes that it would forge better understanding between the two worlds in the future. It was much like how the Ministry dealt with muggle parents with magical children, but the conditions were still very vague (such as not being allowed to enter strictly wizarding areas like Diagon Alley). Given the incredibly uncertain nature of the policy, it was very difficult to get an individual approved by the Ministry since they were using extreme caution.

Hermione, on the other hand, managed to apply and receive approval for Medora in less than a year by pulling some of the many strings she had (she wasn't proud of it, but deemed it necessary). This meant that not only did GRRHoSec have two large markets to tap into, but they were able to carry out extensive field 'investigations' (which consisted of going down to restaurants and analysing their service) thanks to the wonders of Polyjuice and Glamour charms.

Medora had asked countless questions, eternally curious about the wizarding world and the use of magic, which made the Ministry understandably uncomfortable about her status as an 'Aware' Muggle. She had only ceased her pursuit of knowledge when Hermione explained to her the conditions of her status. Still, Hermione bent the rules as much as possible when it came to what she could tell her friend, and Medora eventually understood and appreciated that.

**ooo**

Now, after four years as Chief Field Analyst of Granger-Reinpol Restaurant Hospitality and Service Consultancy, Medora was fed up.

"Our name cards are twice the size of ordinary ones," she pointed out.

"We just don't conform to society's expectations!" Hermione huffed.

"With the amount of money we spend on the extra space for leaflets, name cards, and signs, we could even make a nice website!"

Hermione looked aghast. "Don't joke about the website, Meds. You know we've both tried our best."

"I reckon we could make it _better_ with that money," Medora replied, a deliberately challenging expression on her face. She knew Hermione could not stand the notion of not having something at its _best_.

"You haven't got a clue what you're talking about," she huffed, "We're not discussing this any longer. You're being ridiculous."

Medora sighed. "Remove my surname, or just make it Granger-Reinpol Restaurant Consultancy," she pleaded.

"But… but Meds… what if people get confused!"

"Confused with _what_?! There are hardly any other wizarding and-slash-or muggle restaurant consultancies, are there!"

"All right, all right, I'll _think_ about it."

"_Any_way. What I _actually_ wanted to talk to you about is a treat. For you."

Hermione's eyebrow raised, always the sceptic. "For me? Wait, then why did you come screaming into my office?"

"Fun, it's a bit of a slow day, isn't it?" she grinned, while Hermione groaned in frustration. "But yes, _just_ for you. I figure that you ought to have a bit of a break, every now and then. The last time you and I had fun was a month ago."

"And we both know how _that_ turned out," muttered Hermione.

"Hey, I didn't force you to drink that whisky. No! Don't distract me. There's a cute little place in Germany –"

"Meds, we're going there on _business_, we can't be unprofessional!"

"This _will_ be business. I've already handled all of the paperwork, and I'll also write the report after we're done. I'm going to do the whole project – it's _just_ for you to enjoy the food." Medora shot her a million-watt smile that raised Hermione's suspicions by a million levels.

"What sort of food?"

"Italian."

"Your favourite."

"We-_ell_…"

"Are the waiters good-looking?"

"We-_ell_…"

"_Meds!_"

"Fine, fine! One of them is! Honestly though, I am _not_ trying to set you up. It just so happened that he is. The chef is, too. But but but! It won't make a difference, we'll need to go in disguise –"

"Which means I _will_ have to do some work."

"Come _on_ Hermione, the reviews are absolutely fantastic! It's a tiny place, it won't be a big affair, I'm just really keen to try it. Pleaseee?"

"… all right."

"Brilliant! Our reservation is on the second evening, at six." With that, Medora did a small victory dance, and left Hermione's office.

_Wait a second… she's already made a reservation… which means she already had this whole thing planned before she came to me… _

"ME-DO-RA REIN-POL WHAT HAVE I TOLD YOU ABOUT NOT ABUSING OUR INVESTIGATIONS!"

That had been a loud day in the office indeed.


	2. The Restaurant Of Small Proportions

**Granger-Reinpol Restaurant Hospitality and Service Consultancy  
**_Chapter Two, or The Restaurant Of Small Proportions_

"How is it, Meds," Hermione mused, "that beer is cheaper than water here?"

"I don't know, but I absolutely love it." Medora finished off the bottle she had bought 'for the road' (i.e the short walk down the street from the auditorium to their hotel) and quickly threw it into a recycling bin, then shoved her hands in the pockets of her jackets again. "My hands are cold now, bother."

"That's the price you pay for drinking beer _everywhere_. Honestly, I don't understand you."

"You've got to enjoy it while you can Hermione. Soon we'll be back in damp London with no fantastic alcohol to warm our frigid, tired bodies," she sighed dramatically.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "I don't know why you didn't go into theatre instead."

"Trust me, acting like a stuffy customer who's tetchy for no reason at all is quite a lot of joy as well. It more than makes up for it." Medora's smile had a wicked slant to it that Hermione knew meant unnecessary trouble.

"Please, _please_, don't make a fuss tonight."

"_Me?!_ On _your_ special night? Wouldn't dream of it. It's your treat, remember?"

"I'd forgotten," came the dry reply.

"If anyone were to make a fuss tonight, it would be you. Our disguises will be an father taking his newly-adult daughter out for a nice dinner. I, being the charitable soul I am, will be the sage old man. You shall be the attractive lady out to have a bit of fun!"

Hermione did her eyebrow raise.

"Er, or you could just be… Well. A lady. That's fine too."

"It's adorable how _I'm _the one who'll be putting on our disguises and yet _you_ think you've got a say," Hermione teased.

"Oh, come off it Hermione! I'm sorry I'm not a special magical little unicorn, all right? Besides, I've already mentally prepared myself to be the sage old man. There's no worse you can do."

"I'd take that as a challenge if it weren't for the fact that I've already prepared the potions."

**ooo**

They quickly prepared when they got to their room and went through their identities once more before heading out of the hotel, stopping at the concierge to ask for directions. Medora all but lumbered along (with another bottle of beer, of course), while Hermione struggled to make her clothes fit a bit better. She cursed herself for forgetting that the potion would make her a bit shorter, too.

"It's sort of like…" Medora started, watching Hermione stealthily charm her different pieces of clothing while they walked down the alley.

"Like what?"

"These disguises. It's sort of like magic, honestly."

Hermione stopped and stared at her.

"What?" Medora asked, waving her bottle to emphasise her confusion.

"Maybe… because… it _is_ magic?"

Medora stared right back.

"I knew that! Hermio – Hannah, you're so funny sometimes!" she suddenly roared, with a loud, bellowing laugh.

_Merlin, she's really getting into her role, isn't she._

**ooo**

"Signore!" came the friendly greeting of a short, round man, just as they reached the restaurant. "May I ask if you have a reservation?"

"We do," Medora replied. "I am Mister Fidel."

"Ahh, signore Fidel! Two people?"

"My daughter and I, yes."

"Si, si! This way, please."

They entered the doorway and walked past a bar, a row of coat hangers, and a long, narrow counter with a shelf above it holding a host of cutlery, napkins, and plates. There was also a pair of small, two-seater tables along the opposite side of the corridor, leaving only a narrow aisle in the middle for movement. This led into a bigger area, with five tables (yes, Hermione counted) that sat four to six people each, and three smaller ones. Medora had not been lying about the restaurant being tiny.

The main part of the restaurant had a few large mirrors with elaborate frames adorning the walls. One wall however simply had a massive blackboard on it, and written in a beautiful, flowing script was what Hermione supposed was the menu. She could hardly recognise a handful of words. On each table was a small candlelight, as well as a few random fruits, adding a splash of colour.

The waiter stopped at the second table in the corridor, closer to the main area, and offered to take their coats.

"Is this our table?" Medora asked. There was only one other diner, who was seated at a four-person table. "It isn't the most ideal of locations."

"I apologise, signore, we are fully reserved. It is Friday night, no?"

"I suppose it is…"

"It is better here, later!" he assured them. "Over there? A lot of noise, when the people come. Here, there is much less!"

"Hmm," Medora hummed, clearly unimpressed. Nevertheless, she let the man take her coat, and Hermione followed suit.

"I'm really not happy with this table," Medora said, once they sat down. "This aisle is tiny, and they'll be walking up and down it all night!"

"Not really, Me – Papa. There's only one other table down there, they won't _need_ to go there much, would they?"

"True, true…" she mused, then suddenly, she burst out again. "Ah, my daughter! Always so logical!"

Hermione laughed incredulously at her friend: a tipsy Medora was bad enough, and here was one who was supposed to be acting at the same time. At least she didn't feel too embarrassed at the moment – after all, the restaurant only had four waiters. Looking around, Hermione mentally checked them off the list Medora had told her.

Typical Italian uncle-like character, _check_.

Tall Asian man, incredibly tanned, _check_.

Short, plump, friendly-looking lady, _check_.

Only one of them was not there… the supposedly attractive ("Okay, _fine_, he's not that attractive. But better-than-average?" Medora smiled hopefully), glasses-wearing, dark-haired, European gentlemen of questionable origin ("I am _not_ joking," Medora had insisted, "they wrote 'questionable origin'. It's absolutely hilarious; even they don't know where he's from").

Wine menus were brought to their table, and Hermione flipped through it, disinterested. Medora on the other hand perused it like the connoisseur she had decided to be. Finally, she called the waiter over again.

"I'm sorry, do you have a list? I mean, there's one per page here, it's awfully hard to flip –"

"I _am_ the list," said a different voice.

Medora laughed heartily, and Hermione glanced up. Oh, here was the last waiter. Glasses, suspenders, and a smile.

He asked what taste they were looking for, and Hermione blinked owlishly at him, looking over at her 'father'. He seemed to get the idea that the decisions were coming from that side tonight, and turned his attention to Medora. After much debate and fancy wine names, a suitable champagne and red were chosen.

The wine menus were collected, and the waiter clapped his hands together. "Now, your courses for tonight! My name is Lincoln, by the way. The menu is written in a mix of German and Italian, so I will translate it for you now," he said cheerfully, then added, "before the main crowd comes in. They're incredibly noisy."

"I know German and Italian," Hermione said suddenly.

"You do?" asked the man in shock (it is worth noting now that Medora and Hermione were disguised as an Asian father and daughter).

"You _do_?!" asked Medora, in even more shock.

"Of course. There's a carpaccio, mozzarella with rucola, and –"

"… wait," Lincoln said, narrowing his eyes. "Those are just Italian dishes. You can't even see the menu from here!" he accused.

"Hannah, I am too tipsy to handle your cheekiness right now," Medora warned.

Hermione laughed in her face. Served her right.

Eventually, they finished ordering, with much bellowing from Medora about the 'right' kind of meat, just as the dinner crowd arrived. The previously quiet restaurant was suddenly alive with conversation, in a variety of languages.

"There's something about Lincoln that's oddly familiar," Hermione told Medora as she sipped her champagne. "His voice…"

"I didn't recognise him from anywhere," Medora replied, drinking her champagne much faster. "Maybe he's one of _your_ friends." The last part was said pointedly, and followed by a giggle.

Hermione looked appalled. "_You're an aging man, you don't giggle!_" she hissed furiously.

Medora, typically, ignored her. "Seems like only that first man and our waiter speak English," she commented.

"I thought you said you handled the paperwork, shouldn't you already know?"

"I am mightily offended! Mightily!" Medora said, taking a gulp of her wine to show just how mighty her offense was. "I was just _informing_ you, all right?"

"All right, all right. No more snarky comments. But really, where _is_ he from?" she muttered, more to herself.

"I know," Medora declared.

"You do?!" she asked, an uncanny resemblance of the two people before who had asked exactly the same thing. Had Meds suddenly gained a bout of clarity?

"Yes."

"_Where?_" Hermione asked exasperatedly, when her friend didn't elaborate.

"Questionable."

Medora even had the gall to add a sagely nod.


End file.
